It Starts with Us: A Novel (2) (It Ends with Us)

I’ve been out of the dating loop for a while, so if hug is code for something else, I have no idea.

Surely a hug still just means a hug.

I can barely work social media, much less keep up with slang. I swear, I’m the most out-of-touch millennial I know. It’s as if I skipped right over Gen X and into Boomer territory. I’m a Boomer millennial. A boollennial. Hell, my mother is a Boomer and probably knows more about these things than I do. She’s the one with a new boyfriend. I should call her and ask for pointers.

I brush my teeth, just in case a hug is a kiss. And then I change clothes twice, until I end up back in the pajamas I had on when I FaceTimed him. I’m trying way too hard to look like I’m not trying too hard. Sometimes being a woman is so dumb.

I’m pacing my apartment, anxious for his knock. I don’t know why I’m so nervous; I just spent three hours with him.

Well, one and a half if I don’t count the nap I took in the middle of our date.

Several dozen paces later, there’s a light tap on my apartment door. I know it’s Atlas, but I glance through the peephole anyway.

He even looks good all distorted through a peephole. I smile when I noticed he changed, too. Just his jacket, but still. He was wearing a thick black coat when we went out earlier, but now he’s wearing a simple gray hoodie.

Dear God. I like it so much.

I open the door, and Atlas leaves zero seconds between our first moment of eye contact and when his arms sweep me in for a hug.

He holds me so tight, it makes me want to ask him what was so bad about the last hour, but I don’t. I just quietly hug him back. I settle my cheek against his shoulder and revel in the comfort of him.

Atlas didn’t even step inside my apartment. We’re just standing in the doorway, as if a hug still just means a hug. His cologne is nice. It reminds me of summer, like he’s defying the cold. He seemed so concerned about smelling like garlic earlier, but all I could smell was this same cologne.

He lifts a hand to the back of my head and rests it there gently. “You okay?”

“I am now.” My response is muffled against him. “You?”

He sighs, but he doesn’t say he’s okay. He just leaves his answer hanging in his exhale, until he slowly releases me. He lifts a hand and runs his fingers down a piece of my hair. “I hope you get some sleep tonight.”

“You too,” I say.

“I’m not going home, I’m staying at the restaurant tonight.” He shakes that sentence off like he shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s a long story, and I need to get back. I’ll catch you up on everything tomorrow.”

I want to invite him in and make him give me all the details right now, but I feel like he’d offer them up if he were in the mood. I’m certainly not in the mood to talk about what happened with Ryle, so I’m not going to force him to talk about whatever put a damper on his night. I just wish there was a way I could make it better.

I perk up when I think of something that might do the trick. “Do you need more reading material?”

His eyes glint with a twinge of excitement. “I do, actually.”

“Wait here.” I head to my bedroom and look in my box of things, searching for the next journal. When I find it, I take it back to him. “This one is a little more graphic,” I tease.

Atlas takes the journal with one hand and then slides his other arm around my lower back and tugs me against him. Then, quickly, he steals a peck. It’s so soft and fast, it doesn’t even fully register that he kissed me until it’s over.

“Goodnight, Lily.”

“Goodnight, Atlas.”

Neither of us moves. It feels like it might hurt if we separate. Atlas pulls me even tighter against him and then he lowers his lips to the spot near my collarbone where my tattoo is hidden beneath my shirt. The tattoo he doesn’t even know is there. He kisses it unknowingly, and then, sadly, he leaves.

I close the door and press my forehead against it. I feel all the familiar feelings of a crush, but this time those feelings are accompanied by worry and hesitation, even though it’s Atlas, and Atlas is one of the good ones.

I blame Ryle for that. He took what little trust I had left in men thanks to my father, and he stripped me of it.

But I think this crush is a sign that Atlas might be able to give back what my father and Ryle took from me. My stomach moves from the flutters Atlas left me with to what feels like a six-foot drop on that thought, because I know how that would make Ryle feel.

The more joy I get from my interactions with Atlas, the more dread I feel about having to break the news to Ryle.